Turks Week 2018
by sanctum-c
Summary: Prompt-fills for Turks Week on Tumblr
1. HR Recruitment Office Job Opportunity

Elena soon discovered a large amount of the Turk's reputation was a combination of deliberate obfuscation, convenient assumptions and lies Reno told. Certainly it would otherwise be impossible to square a strange perception the Turks knew everything and everyone with the long, long list of questions and oddities peppering recent events and her elevation to the group's ranks. No one could confirm Palmer's borderline hysterical and near impossible account. No one knew how Avalanche had slipped their cells and crashed out of the city at speed. The group's destination after would be easy enough to pin down from checking maps, but a lesser consideration right now.

Sadly there was no office in the lofty floors of the Shinra building filled with monitors and VHS decks cataloguing the activity across the whole city. Neither did becoming a Turk provide training. Not quite true; there was a brief training session and a run-down of what was now expected of her. But no ability to blend into the background or stealth. There was no initiation ceremony, no blood oaths, tattoos. She didn't need to kill another Turk (they were a man down as it was – that would have been a futile effort) or another person. That kind of thing could plausibly come up in the job (that strange non-descriptor of SOLDIER recruitment oddly was a factor). They did not provide the suit either.

"Come back tomorrow with the requisite clothing." Tseng told Elena in a brusk tone at the conclusion of their first meeting.

"I will sir." Tseg wore a black suit. Where had he gotten it? "Is there a specific cut or store I should buy from?"

Tseng glanced up from his notes. "Hmmm? No. Use your judgement. Try to fit in." He went back to reading. A pause; Elena got up from the chair. Tseng didn't move or look at her. Elena bit her lip. A burning list of questions now. Should she wear a skirt or trousers? The secretaries downstairs all seemed to have skirts as part of the dress code, but the Turks all wore pants. Of course, the Turks were all men which might influence the thinking. Pants would be preferable in all honesty.

Tseng was still reading. "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Good. I would rather not lose the time, but-" Tseng flipped over another page and fell silent.

There was of course the possibility this was all a test to see if she would push back or protest. Or if she would obey orders. "Excuse me, sir," Elena managed at last and breezed out the door before he could protest. Second guessing her thoughts would not help matters. And now the rest of the day was free to get the uniform.

Joining the Turks had always been a vague career progression from within the company. After a general application and subsequent induction, Elena wound up in a reasonably essential – if ultimately unimportant – section of human resources. Work was okay; nothing too demanding. There were good days, bad days. She got praise and condemnation in a positive mix. People turned to her with difficult problems she was known to solve and relied on her past experience.

But there was no way to advance. Nowhere to aspire to. Managers running things since forever and internal promotions simply did not happen. Getting a new job was the only route. The quirk of the Turk's official role description ensured they landed in the same collective department – but again, the seemingly mundane explanation and frequent trips to Junon did little to dissuade the open secret of their role as the President's fixers. Former president, though Rufus was likely to depend on them in much the same way.

Qualifications for Turks were unclear. Technically people skills and some idea of recruitment, but given Rude was famous for barely stringing three words together, Elena had always been suspicious of the assertion. Combat skills on the other hand were perhaps the only open admission the group were not intended for quite the role they claimed. Elena had not entirely cared; the Turks seemed a chance at better pay and something else career-wise.

But nothing came of it; she received an unsigned, polite rejection letter. Should have been the end of it. A surprise to get called in for the meeting, though Tseng had made clear the limitations of the opportunity: until Reno was out of the hospital. Better than nothing though her life after would need figuring out.

No matter. For now she was the newest member of the Turks. Elena grinned and headed for the elevator.


	2. Seeds of the Garden

Reno was often bored, but usually it wasn't combined with a long hospital stay and a distinct inability to move. He was at least in a private room which meant no disturbance by any other patients. On the other hand it did mean once he stopped caring about the selection of glossy magazines he had managed to snag on the way in, there was precious little to do. Aside from watching the TV suspended from the corner of his room opposite the bed.

But TV was boring him. Most normal programming remained cancelled as Shinra ran extended tributes to President Shinra and shows with a distinct economy of truth on Avalanche's origins, the history of Sector Seven, and a slew of jingoistic programming about Rufus Shinra's ascension to power. Reno was not in the mood. Not least as he was all too aware of his own part in the massacre the news programs had changed tone on. After the plate had fallen, newsreaders had claimed no injuries in the incident, though this gave way to a new claim; no civilian injuries. Anyone who died on the upper or lower plates was a Avalanche sympathiser and thus brought it all on their own heads.

Reno scowled and channel surfed higher. He never got this far up the list; the major networks boasted numerous soap operas which despite some gentle mocking from his co-workers he never tired of watching. The intricate interplay of personal emotions, people not talking to each other at all, or in some extreme cases getting into a fight with a dubious rubber monster simply enthralled the Turk. But today nothing seemed capable of sating of the stimulus he craved. He surfed higher.

Regional specific programming began to appear; Kalm and Junon were too close to differ TV wise, so the first changed programming was from Costa del Sol. He stared at the presenters, sat behind a desk on a beach… At least that was what it looked like. Despite their sunny location, they too recited the same tired points about the disaster in Midgar and the terrorists still on the loose in the same solemn voices as the local channels. It might have been amusing to stay to see if they would deviate from what felt like set scripts with regards to Rufus, but he was already far too bored.

He hopped up the channels some more. The Gold Saucer seemed to have its own station; a looping infomercial trailer for the facilities of the entertainment complex. Well, his assumption on how it would have worked under normal circumstances. Instead it ran with the sound lowered, the colours faded and obscured by a translucent black square over the images with a caption of how sorry the staff were for the loss of President Shinra, a well known patron of the park. Reno was suspicious. He did not think he had ever seen the man set foot in the theme park, and suspected it would be the man's idea of hell.

Reno sighed and clicked up again, now finding some odd channels. Cartoon figures swiped swords at each other in a Wutai bar, the slouching tanned man catching the other's sword with his shoe before slashing at the man with the glasses and the pony-tail. It was entertaining to see the two of them charge around the bar, slicing and cutting at things, the younger girl in the pink kimono rushing around to free the them from prison to do… something. As far as Reno could tell anyway. Wutainese was not something he'd ever put much effort into learning, but the images were neat. All too soon the program ended and was instead replaced by a news broadcast. And to his dismay this seemed to be once again about Midgar and Rufus. At least Wutai did not deem it fit to reorder it's schedules.

Reno selected another channel and paused, watching as a Wutai man spoke with passion to a Wutai woman who was facing away from him. He said something causing her to turn and reach a hesitating hand out for him. The man pulled her into his arms with a flourish and the two hugged before leaning together into a kiss. Reno frowned as the camera cut-away before their lips touched. Was this some social thing over there? No matter; the couple from before were now represented as a shadow on the wall beside a sliding door. On the other side someone in deep shadow was watching the couple.

He was glowering, angry and holding a short sword in one hand. Another hand touched his shoulder and he span in panic. A different Wutai woman covered his mouth and muttered something to him. The man stayed angry, but his expression softened after a beat. With a jerk of his head he indicated the kissing couple in the next room, and the woman's eyes widened as she caught sight of them. She began crying with quiet sobs as the man grimaced and stalked away. A dramatic music cue flared up as the screen cut to black and Wutai lettering started scrolling up the screen accompanied by a song.

Wow. Reno let out the breath he was holding. Sure he had no idea who anyone was or what they were doing, though the former had always been true when he got into a soap (did anyone start from episode one anyway?). He kept an eye on the screen as the credits rolled and began showing a succession of adverts. He was not totally shocked to see no more of the drama - instead a cooking show began. No matter. Reno glanced at his watch. He would have to remember to tune in the same time tomorrow for the next part. And see if…

He frowned. He had not caught any names, he had no idea if any existed in the deluge of foreign language. Well, the confessing guy could be 'Squall' for now, and his new girlfriend could be 'Rinoa' (he could switch in the real names when he found them out). The angry man he denoted 'Seifer' for now, with his crying accomplice named 'Quistis'. He flipped through the channels a bit further, but worked his way back down to channel 114 and started wondering about TV schedules. Now he wanted to know what happened.

* * *

Two days later, Rude got a chance to visit him again, bringing a blonde woman in a black suit with him. Reno paid them little mind, his gaze locked on the TV screen. Rude fidgeted as Reno glanced away from the screen to a book now thick with slips of paper. Satisfied with the word, Reno stared back at the screen.

"Reno?"

"Wait a minute, it's nearly over."

Rude pulled his sunglasses down a fraction and peered over them at the human drama unfolding on-screen. His gaze flicked to his companion who glanced between Reno, his books and the screen. Rude grimaced, not happy with the new recruit's introduction to her colleague. A dramatic sting played causing Reno to suck in a new breath. "That can't be good…" he murmured.

"What isn't?" Rude's companion spoke up.

Reno didn't move his eyes from the TV. "Squall just found out that Seifer used to date Rinoa. And then he found the note that Quistis left for him…" He blinked at the stranger. "Sorry, who are you?"

"Reno. This is Elena. She's taken over your duties."

"Huh." The red-haired Turk scrutinised Elena. "So you're the newest addition?"

"I am."

"Good, just- Wait." Reno's gaze flitted back to the TV. "Is that another episode?"

Elena's gaze followed his to the TV where a similar song to the one accompanying the closing credits started up. In amongst the intercutting images, she saw the presumably denoted Squall, Seifer, Quistis and Rinoa.

"Reno-" Rude began.

"Look, can't it just wait one more episode? I need to know how this is going to resolve."

Rude sighed and rolled his eyes at Elena. She smiled back and settled into the visitor's chair beside Reno's bed as Rude folded his arms and watched the moving pictures with a cynical expression.

"Which one's Squall?" Elena asked after a pause. "Him?"

"Not him, the one other one. There! That guy on the left."

"So is the other one Seifer?"

"What? No, that's Laguna. I have this odd feeling he's Squall's father."

"Ohhhhh. Which one's Seifer?"

"He's not in this scene. That's Rinoa though. Laguna used to date her mother I think."

"What? You mean he's dating his sister?"

"No. But I think Quistis is trying to convince Squall of that."

"And she wants to be with Squall?"

"Now you're catching on."

The trio lapsed into silence until Rude eventually spoke up. "Who's the girl in yellow?"

"Her? I've been calling her Selphie. Why do you- Oh! Oh, Rude. Seen someone you like by chance?"

Rude didn't dignify the comment with a response and continued to try and watch the TV without comment.

"If you're interested, she's currently with some guy in a cowboy hat. But I'm not sure it's going to last as he's kind of a playboy…"


	3. Overly Familiar Events

Seeds of the Garden was making a dramatic return to the air. While television came back pretty rapidly after Meteorfall, programming tended to lean heavily on re-runs. These dwindled away as time went on and life became easier, if still a shadow of how things were prior to Sephiroth's cosmic interventions. Seeds of the Garden had famously lost its main writer in the interim and few people felt able to fill in.

Until now. To a degree the whole thing was a publicity stunt – and one geared to lend the Shinra corporation a new veneer of respectability. They put up the money and oddly the writer, but production remained located in Wutai, with the native language on initial broadcast with subtitles within twenty-four hours and a reasonably accurate dub appearing a week or so later. Barret was a big fan and insisted Avalanche at least watch the first episode.

"Hasn't Reeve gotten the logo changed?" Barret rumbled when the broadcast began – complete with a special introduction from the company's new media spokesman. "That one…"

"I know," Tifa nodded. "He wants to, but people do recognise it. A familiar theme tune began – taken by most present in the Eighth Heaven as the signal to change the channel or do anything else. In Barret's case, he sat up straighter.

In addition to the loss of the main writer, significant portions of the cast had not survived and thus a great deal of the first episode was spent winding through a hasty recap of a fictional timeline. The mercenaries were – to much surprise – intended to fight sorceresses. One in particular wanted to destroy all of time, possessed the lead's would be girlfriend. There were some alleged skirmishes, a near end of the world. "Thought this was all fictional," Cloud murmured.

The narration slowed and followed the lead and his girlfriend as they retired from military life. Retreating to the quiet town of Winhill, the two settled into a rural setting – and a total change of cast. Barret shifted in his seat. "Don't worry," he said over his shoulder. "They do this from time to time. Never lasts long and then they get back to the fights and the magic-"

Cloud and Tifa shared a sceptical glance. Vincent was unexpectedly interested in the program. The show had run for- Tifa counted on her fingers. Weird. It would have started during his slumber, so it was not as if it was a relic of his past. She blinked. The series lead had wandered into the village's inn and encountered the barmaid; a tall woman with long black hair and a extremely low-cut top. The white of her top contrasted with the black skirt and the illusion was hard to shake. What the-

A quick glance showed no one else double-taking. Must be reading into it too much. The woman running the bar had a handful of lines. The action tracked the lead, the barmaid moving around in the background. Some fairly mundane dialogue. This was why she never bothered with these kinds of programs-

A man with blond, spiky hair and a dark purple jumpsuit entered and greeted the barmaid enthusiastically, again stealing focus from the lead. Tifa cleared her throat. "Does anything else think this is a bit too familiar?"

Cloud scrubbed at his hair furiously. "Coincidence," Barret said, though he was frowning now.

The current scene now focused on the barmaid and the newcomer. A would-be mercenary hanging around until the blacksmith repaired his sword. His talk with the barmaid was full of innuendo. Like Cloud but with a lot more confidence. Another customer called the barmaid away and the mercenary stared after her longingly. Tifa shot a glance at Cloud. This was getting a trifle embarrassing.

The mercenary finished his drink and went to leave the bar. A spill by a minor character caused him to slip off his feet. But thanks to some stunt work or wires, the mercenary successfully flipped onto solid ground – a nearby table in a dramatic fashion that would have been so much more impressive if the article of furniture did not give way. Tifa's mouth fell open. The situation was near identical to an incident last month. Same slip, same flip through the air, same embarrassment for Cloud when he wound up deposited on the floor.

"Are we being spied on?!" Yuffie hissed.

No cameras in sight, but how small would they need to be? "Or maybe you're covering your tracks?" Barret asked, turning to the ninja.

"Oh, so just because this was made in Wutai, you think I had something to do with it?" she snapped back. "I wouldn't work with Shinra ever. No matter who's in charge."

Cloud was flushed red by now. "Maybe, maybe one of the customers?"

Tifa nodded, not wanting to consider the implications given the care the barmaid was putting into helping the mercenary – nor how blatantly he was staring at her chest. "Can we get them to stop this?"

"Unlikely," Barret muttered. "Even if we do nothing, they can make the characters do what they want. If we don't do anything they can use we can avoid some of it?"

"But who? Who did this?" Tifa demanded. No answer until the end. A stream of Wutainese characters scrolled up the screen as the outro played. Tifa's stomach lurched. "Hey did that-"

"Reno Sinclair?!" Cloud spluttered.

"Reno?" Yuffie exclaimed. "I didn't think he had a last name."

"He doesn't- I think?" Cloud frowned.

"Reno wrote that?" Tifa paced back and forth. "Wait. He hasn't been by in half a year. How did he-" She whirled, but the guilty party was already gone. There was a suspect, Vincent-shaped hole in the air.

Barret followed her gaze and grimaced. "Should have known. Once a Turk, always a Turk."


	4. Not (Quite) the End of the World

Meteor still lurked; an ugly red blot high in the darkening sky. Fires raged at the top of the Shinra building. The eight rectors encircling Midgar lay dark and inert, Hojo's last, mad scheme near enough the final nail in the city's coffin. But Elena was still here, sat near the edge of the Sector Eight plate. Despite Reeve's impassioned insistence, there were still people wandering the Upper plate and who knew how many people clung to the relative safety of the slums. So many choosing to wait here and not headed for Kalm and a hope for- What?

Meteor would fall and what happened after was a subject of debate. The last analysis by the newly important space division confirmed what observers knew well enough; Meteor was not hurtling towards them. It was above them, ready to fall. Assuming it did not accelerate up to a damaging velocity without warning – a risk when dealing with magically influenced astrophysics – the result of the impact in purely physical terms would be bad but not catastrophic.

The comment had provoked a hastily covered snort from Elena. Assuming they were dealing with nothing more than several billion tonnes of red rock – a naïve assumption – the world would still suffer. The point of impact (a calculation changing by the day based on new observations) a lost cause wherever it was. A lot depended on land or sea fall with all the inherent complications. Survival plans were hastily discussed; distant bases, mine-shafts, anything on the opposite side of the Planet once it was clear enough.

There was a sense of optimism – until Scarlet spoke up. The precise origins of Meteor remained murky; the Turks own intel from the Cetra Temple, Wallace's statement and Hojo's more coherent commentary certainly pointed to Sephiroth being responsible for calling the object towards them. Given the oddity of Meteor's presence, its stability in orbit, its withstanding of the attempt with the Shinra 26; how could they assume the affect would purely be physical?

The space division objected to the descent into fantastical. The protest bought them few favors, their thinking deemed short-sighted. The notion of extra-Planetary materia and related magic was a leap, but not one without precedence. The nature, composition and effect of Meteor touching the ground defied prediction. It may not have the hammer of the gods feel of an asteroid impact, but the devastation could be far beyond expectations.

Ironically, her speech hearkened back to anti-Shinra protests of recent years. Staring down the barrel of the gun, no stance could be clung to with the same faith. The space team protested and continued their insistence on a bunker of some kind. Rufus had okayed the plan. Now he was dead. Scarlet and Heideggar were gone too. And Meteor waited. How far or where could Elena go? Was there a merit to living through this?

A noise behind her. Reno. "Weren't sure you were coming."

He shrugged. "Got nowhere else to go do I?"

Elena nodded. Turks never discussed family. There were girlfriends, boyfriends, a trace of some familial past. But when they shed their surnames, they dropped a connection back to other people. The Turks – Reno and Rude – were all the family she had left. "Yeah," she said.

Reno dropped to the ground beside her as slovenly dressed as always. Clearly not the end of the world yet. He opened a bottle of some clear liquor and after a long swig passed it to her. Elena spluttered after the first sip. "What is this?" She sniffed the bottle. "Is rocket fuel or something?"

"Like I could get rocket fuel." Reno rolled his eyes. "Last of that went kaboom up there. This is all there was. Looters were way ahead of me on the best way to wait this part out."

Elena nodded and took another swig. Not as bad this time - despite the sensation of her throat lining stripping away with each swallow. "Seen Rude?" She passed the bottle back.

"He'll come, don't worry." Reno shot a glance over his shoulder. "He's supposed to be doing the heavy lifting." He grinned and fell silent.

They stayed silent for some unknown stretch of time as the sky darkened and Meteor brightened. They passed the bottle back and forth, the horrible taste lessening as it took greater effect on Elena. Hours? Days? Sometime later, something heavy thumped into the concrete beside Elena. "Glad I made it in time," Rude murmured, smirking down at her. At his feet was a hard plastic crate filled with an eclectic mix of alcoholic drinks.

"Hey," Reno drawled, flipping the other Turk a lazy salute. "Just in time."

Elena glanced up, her stomach lurching. But despite Reno's words, Meteor seemed as distant as it had always been. She hid the movement as best she could with another swig from the bottle. Rude settled on her other side and opened a bottle. This was the end of the world; either she would die with the only family she still had – or she would endure the future with a hell of a hangover.


	5. Secret Holiday

Elena sat with Reno and Rude in the Turtle's Paradise and glanced over her shoulder. Again. Completely futile and no guard against anything. If Tseng or Rufus arrived now-

No. Impossible. Godo reluctantly accepted the Turks were in Wutai. Rufus would need a full diplomatic welcome; Tseng by contrast would be a slight too large to ignore and whatever tenuous relations existed between Wutai and Shinra would be undone. But, if it came to it, Shinra could wipe Wutai off the map without much fuss at this point; some blasts from the Sister Ray, a battalion of SOLDIER – the third-class would do. And right in keeping with Rufus's attitude up to this point. But it would be more work, more effort, more explanations.

The resulting cover-up and forging of evidence would fall to the Turks as it had done in the past. Elena snorted and sipped at her drink to cover after a questioning glance from Reno. The Turks as it existed five years ago (make-up unclear. Tseng certainly. Reno and Rude both had question marks dangling over their heads) managed to be both exacting and sloppy when masking the destruction of Nibelheim. At first glance an exact replica of a remote mountain town – and no evidence some SOLDIER had razed the original to the ground. But on closer inspection the duplicate left many things wanting.

Dig about a foot down into any dirt or patch of grass and a curious party would find ash. A lot of ash. Former residents of the town would notice inconsistencies. The gate no longer making an age-old squeak. The shade of the wallpaper in an upstairs room no longer the same. A collection of ornaments differing in odd ways. Memory was faulty so perhaps they were nothing significant. Of greater concern were parents and relatives not where they should be; people who were gone without specified destinations or forwarding addresses.

Had the Turks taken care of the dangling threat? Removed anyone who might one day return to the town and find it subtly different? Or worse, find anyone who might have seen the blaze and survived it. Avalanche had two of those, though one presented a curious conundrum all of its own. If any account of the incident were trust-worthy. Hojo's arrival and interference had muddied waters remarkably. Not outside their remit – and who would notice another body in Midgar or Junon?

All in all, the worry about discovery after dispatching a former source – and affecting a sort of truce with Avalanche – while drinking instead of pursuing the latter, probably did not compare. Reno was adamant he had covered for their whereabouts. Avalanche had hit something of a dead-end tracking Sephiroth. Since the Turks were tracking him – or Avalanche (depending on who in the organisation had authority at that juncture) – there was a sort of sense in letting them flounder and work out where to go next.

Reno's assurances should not have been so reassuring – and would not except for a few oblique remarks from Tseng. He had made clear they need not worry about Avalanche's whereabouts; should the Turks need to catch-up, he would provide the location. Frustratingly both Reno and Rude took the answer at face value and thought no more about it. But how Tseng could possibly know plagued Elena. The conclusion kept pointing to a handful of obvious solutions, none of which seemed to fit. Bugs had range issues. A spy should be at least known to them. A shadow would be no better than the Turks following directly.

Tseng's words probably had not been tacit approval for an unofficial extended holiday. And yet here they were. Elena fought the urge to glance behind her again. Reno was following his soap opera again with intent concentration despite what must be a heavy haze of alcohol at this point. Rude split his attention around the bar, tight-lipped as always. And Elena was paranoid. Avalanche had left an hour before and it was still hard to shake the notion they should be right behind them. But she could not ditch her companions without a great number of awkward questions.

Elena picked up her bottle and tried to enjoy the secret holiday.


	6. Loveless the Scourge

Four years after Meteorfall, Rufus Shinra seemed to feel he had more or less successfully glossed over a lot of problematic decisions by his company. Shinra was still nowhere close to its old potential, held in check firmly by the presence of the more popular WRO. Few did not see the next announcement from Shinra as anything more than a naked PR move. Culture was coming back to the world – and Shinra wanted to held it arrive. There was a swiftly ignored press release about some new creative director the company had hired, but the first production was impossible to dismiss so easily. Loveless was being re-staged.

The former denizens of Midgar took the news well. The absurd long-running play had run the gamut from a must-see production to something everyone had seen more than once, to a darling of some die-hard fans and an utter last resort for a night out to others. But four years had passed and the dust had settled. The revival of the musical (complete with an entirely new ending) was exciting. Rehearsal and wild speculative acceptance threatened to sink the project before it began; a punch-line on news programs and the few dramas that remained on the air in amongst all the re-runs.

What would it be like? Murmurs amongst many concluded that this at last was a sign that while life was radically different now, a semblance of what had once been normal was returning. As long as Shinra did not try turning any of the reactors back on.

Loveless was an immediate sell-out. Tickets sold for outrageous prices and those who had seen the production gushed at length to all those who would listen. To the surprise of no one the soundtrack crushed all competition in the now nascent music charts. VHS copies of the production promised within two years – for those unable to reach Midgar – or unwilling to pay the prices. Pirated copies did the round after Shinra convinced one of the networks to run a live broadcast. Not unheard of to find people humming melodies around Edge. Cloud reported hearing the soundtrack as far out as Gongaga.

Everyone was a Loveless fan now. The news a non-musical TV version was in production was no surprise, and that lead to another round of speculation and anticipation. The series smashed the skewed viewing figures and saw frequent repeats. Shinra not wanting to lose their runaway success soon pushed a feature film into production. This one was a musical. Another version of the soundtrack. Posters, bags, trinkets, magnets, mugs, glasses- Loveless sold and sold.

The news a year later that another version of Loveless adapted to film was less welcome. Not that it stopped the die-hard fans or Shinra. A non-musical version of the series entered cinemas roughly the same time a musical version of the TV series aired. Remixes of any of the four soundtracks flooded the charts – complete with new songs about Loveless, or going to see Loveless, or a significant other was too (or not enough) into Loveless.

There was no escaping it and little anyone could do. Until-

"They… they cancelled Seeds of the Garden."

Elena blinked at the dazed Reno. His brief stint on the writing staff and subsequent removal formed an oddly critical part of a new treaty between Wutai and Shinra; near certainly part of Kisaragi's vague influence on her father. In any case the mysterious AG now had chief writing duties – communicating solely by fax as far as rumours went.

"Huh?"

"Seeds of the Garden," he repeated with a scowl. "Has been cancelled." Reno clenched his fists. "By Loveless the Soap Opera."

"They are not even pretending anymore are they?" Elena remarked to Rude. She sighed. "You can't argue with success. Loveless sells."

Reno scratched his head with frustrated strokes. "Yeah, but how? And why does it mean anything else doesn't get a look in?" He stared upwards. "I'm going to do something about it."

"Oh no. Reno. Leave it." Reno stalked out, Elena and Rude trailing after him.

"No. I want to have a word with the creative director-" He blinked. "Who even is the guy? Is it a guy?"

"Uh-" Good question. "Maybe?"

Reno glowered. "Gotta convince him to put something else into production. I… I can take it being cancelled. Not just Loveless all the damned time."

"Whoever it is, must be a huge fan," Rude muttered. The renovated Junon was nowhere close to as vast or labyrinthine as the old Shinra building. Finding the creative director's office was not hard. Elena caught Reno's arm as he reached for the door.

"Weapon."

Reno gave her a look. "I'm not going to hurt them." Elena stared levelly at him. "Fine," Reno said. He slapped his electro-mag rod into Elena's hand. "But if they won't give up on Loveless, I want that back." Elena said nothing; Reno pushed the door open.

Inside a red-haired man sat hunched at a desk, though that detail was secondary to the singular massive wing sprouting from his back. "Sephiroth?!" Elena gasped. "Wait, no. Who-" The man turned.

"Genesis," Reno groaned. "Should have known"

"Do you want something?" the former SOLDIER looked distracted. "I'm right in the middle of my next project."

"is that… a video game?" Elena asked peering at the screen.

"Is that Loveless the video game?" Rude asked almost choking.

Genesis beamed at them. "Guaranteed best-seller." Wordlessly Elena handed Reno back the electro-rod.


	7. Turks Vs Remnants

A vacation would be nice. Elena grimaced; the last time she had the time for something as trivial as a vacation was back before Meteorfall. After surviving and helping rebuild the Shinra company, there was still day to day life to contend with. And that was before current events. Rufus dispatching them to Nibelheim for the last dregs of Jenova should have been a fool's errand. But in amongst the inert Mako reactor machinery were traces of cells. Something the newly awakened Remnants were decidedly interested in.

An old, old experiment of Hojo's awake and deadly – the warped contents of the pods left forgotten when the mako flow cut off now shape-shifting into forms reminiscent of Sephiroth. The Turks barely escaped from the mountainside with the cells and their lives intact. The new science division peppered them with questions on their return, each Turk giving an individual statement. Not much to conclude; none of the Remnants seemed gifted with any of Sephiroth's peculiar abilities. If they had, chances were good the Turks would have never survived at all.

There was some vain hope the Remnants would not survive long, would be unable to articulate anything and fade. Maybe they suffered a collective delusion on the mountain's peak. No such luck. The Remnants moved, cutting a trail of destruction across the world. From survivor accounts they sought variously either "Mother" or "Shinra". Had the Turks' presence when obtaining the samples ben enough to awaken the trio? Too late to debate now. The Remants headed for Junon and there seemed little anyone could do. They had magic now – likely running across some cache of materia someone was holding onto.

Rufus resisted the most logical course, no matter how frequently Elena insisted upon it. Destroy the final Jenova cells and free them from the threat. The notion appalled the science teams of course. The last direct evidence on the whole Planet pertaining to an extra-terrestrial life-form. To destroy it was an act of vandalism on an incalculable level. Elena shot back she would prefer the intelligence did not get as close to as destroying the world as Sephiroth had.

Turks did as instructed unfortunately. Elena's comments noted down and ignored. The Remnants drew closer.

Elena's next suggestion gained more traction. Reach out to those who fought Jenova, fought Sephiroth before. Cloud Strife, while never truly a SOLDIER, was perhaps their best chance at combating the Remnants. The rest of his motley crew would be a bonus. But Avalanche as it was had drifted apart. Cloud was reluctant to fight, marred and marked by the same plague Rufus suffered. Both cause and cure remained unknown at present.

Circumstances forced Cloud into participation. The Remnants knew of him all too well. Knew where to strike to provoke him. They wanted him riled. He gave chase into a trap in the Mythril mines, Shinra surveillance teams losing track of the Remnants when they scattered after the confrontation. Missing children hardly seemed as vital as a possible new end of the world. The last destructive enough; could they survive another instance?

The Remnants surfaced in Edge, children used as a crude but effective shield. There was something wrong with their vacant eyes, jaws hanging slack and skin mottled with dark veins implying infection. Only two Remnants here; the third was somewhere else. Cloud was inbound and fast. Avalanche were who knew where. Elena glanced at Reno and Rude beside her. No vacation yet. Together they stepped forward; three humans versus the Remnants.


End file.
